


Darling Do You Suppose?

by thegoodthebadandthenerdy



Series: Pynch Drabbles [4]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Claddagh Ring, College, LET'S TALK ABOUT FEELINGS, M/M, idk what school i write him at tbh, promise ring, technically its a, which is essentially an irish promise ring youll get all that info dont worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy
Summary: Before Cabeswater, before St. Agnes, before Ronan and Gansey and Blue and Henry and Noah, before Aglionby, before all of it, Adam hadn't been one for feeling.





	Darling Do You Suppose?

**Author's Note:**

> title from the party goes with you from 35mm: a musical exhibition 
> 
> also,,, dont @ me for romanticizing a college dorm room i'm already ashamed of myself okay

Adam had been at school for verging on three months - just a week and some change away from it, in fact - and he still hadn't managed to get used to waking up in his dorm room.

It was more spacious than he'd imagined it to be - and had he imagined it. Years and years spent constructing a vision that had yet to come close to what he had found.

It wasn't that he'd imagined it wrong, because in reality, he'd pictured it pretty damn close to what it actually was.

A hard mattress that rose in all the wrong places, leaving him with an unsupported back and a constant thrumming ache in his shoulders. A tall dresser that he still hadn't managed to fill, didn't think he ever would. A desk shoved in the corner looking dangerously close to Gansey's back in Monmouth - all strewn pens and open books and papers everywhere. 

These were all as he'd imagined. The rough carpet and the popcorn ceiling were just so, too. The walls were the only thing that deviated from what he'd pictured, and even that was only in the slightest.

Adam had a corkboard, one of the big ones, and it was full to the brim with pictures and postcards and an overwhelming sense of love that he never in his wildest dreams would have been able to think up.

There were blurry photobooth streams of him and Blue from when they'd been dragged to the mall by Gansey on one eventful occasion and promptly left him to find something more interesting to do.

There were deeply saturated polaroids that Henry had snapped from his month long photographer phase - Gansey with rumpled hair and an arm swung around Adam as the former beamed brightly, Blue with tears in her eyes when Adam had walked across the stage at graduation that Adam still wasn't sure of the origin of, as Henry had walked the stage, too. And then the picture once they'd all gone back to the Barns for a small joint-graduation party, where Blue had planted the sloppiest, fakest kiss to his cheek, but he hadn't cared because he was grinning so hard. There was one that had to be made copies of and given to each of his friends because they'd found it so funny - Adam, in his boxers and one of Ronan's old t-shirts in the laundry/kitchen/bathroom of Monmouth, just trying to get some orange juice, when Henry had popped out of nowhere to snap a selfie; needless to say, it was taken as Adam jumped and shot orange juice in his eyes, and all that could be made of Henry was one crinkled-in-laughter eye and the slighest tip of his smile.

There were more, various aesthetic ones that reminded Adam of home - home, something he thought he'd never be able to associate with Henrietta. They had all been taken when Henry had passed the camera to Ronan after he'd fallen from his phase - photos of Fox Way, of Opal in tall rain boots beaming next to the first cow Ronan had managed to awaken, of Chainsaw preening on Adam's pillow looking as smug as ever.

There were postcards from all over the world from Blue, Gansey, and Henry, each sloppily signed and happily explained. There were stubs and mementos from a few events Adam had been to - his tassel from graduation, a pressed flower in a small Ziploc bag that Opal had given him as a going away present the day he'd left for school.

All these things - they were Adam's life. Happy, carefree, so in love with his friends and his newfound family. He'd never thought he'd have that.

In his thoughts, the walls had always been bare.

He was happy they weren't.

But even with these things brightening his walls, even with the swell they created in his chest, they still weren't what was so increfibly jarring about the room, so wrong from his vision.

It was the feeling the room gave him.

Before Cabeswater, before St. Agnes, before Ronan and Gansey and Blue and Henry and Noah, before Aglionby, before all of it, Adam hadn't been one for feeling. Feelings were to be strapped down and repressed and left for the dead of night long after his mother had gone to bed and his father's terrible snores could be heard over the ever running TV in the living room.

Feelings were to be denied, not examined. To be brutalized, not tended. To be stricken down, not imagined.

So Adam had never considered what this room would feel like.

But now that he had it, now that he knew, he never wanted to shake it.

It was pride, so surging that he'd felt woozy the first time it had hit him - the dead of night the first tine he'd slept in his new bed.

It was winning, so sweet, like a busted fruit, that he could get drunk on it.

It was triumph, triumph in the best and boldest and realest of ways.

It was a breath, it was a sigh, it was a scream. It was a battle cry, a gentle whisper, a warm embrace.

It was a reminder. Of days behind him, of those he was currently in, and what was laid out before him. 

It was a bittersweet finality that he hadn't realized he'd been longing for his whole life.

He'd never thought, this early in life, a volume of his story would be over, but every time he woke up in his dinky dorm room he could feel the pages thin until a whole new story began itself.

The first few chapters of the rest of his life were made of orange sunsets from the roof of his building, surrounded by people he never thought he'd have a place with, but somehow fit right in. They were sharp Snapchats from Maura Sargent (who only had one to keep up with her children, aka Blue, Gansey, and Henry, but somehow Adam, too) of Ronan and Opal loitering around Fox Way with cups of steaming, most likely putrid brews and sweatshirts emblazoned with Adam's school's emblem. They were late night phone calls and good morning texts from a boy who hated phones. Textbook pages and cramming for tests and dusty libraries and brand new friends who had never heard of Henrietta, Virginia.

Adam loved each page, each sentence, each word. 

But he still hadn't gotten used to waking up in his dorm room.

Or rushing through the old halls to get to his classes, or to meet up with his study group. Or darting across campus in the rain to catch the bus to his job - yes, job, not job _s_. Or going to the mess hall and being able to get whatever his pinched stomach craved.

Adam loved every second of these new chapters, but none of it was familiar. It was constantly changing and shifting - which, he supposed, after being friends with Gansey for so long, should be familiar - in a way that sometimes it made his head spin.

Which was why he craved moments like this.

His roommate - who he had first pinned down to be a watered down Tad Carruthers, but soon found he was severely wrong on that front - ambled over to him, making sure to position himself on Adam's hearing side.

Adam pulled his earbud from his ear, the other ens plugged into the cheap laptop he'd nabbed during a surprisingly large holiday sale just before heading out for school.

"Hey, man, your phone's gone off twice," Xander said, not unkindly, holding the object in question out to Adam. 

"Oh, thanks," Adam replied, swiftly plucking it from the other boy's hand and resting it in his lap as he finished off the closing statement for his paper. "You see who it was, by any chance?"

Xander stopped, his mouth twitching slightly before letting the name fall from his mouth questioningly, "Dipshit McGee?" 

Adam's hands paused over his keyboard as he let out a rough laugh at the awkwardness with which Xander pronounced the name. He'd been more sheltered than any rich kid Adam had ever met - and thus had arrived at school still blushing when he said crap; sadly, or not, depending on how you looked at it, Adam and his repetoire of vehement curses that he'd picked up from Aglionby and Ronan and Fox Way had corrupted that within the first two weeks.

"Thanks," Adam finally replied, continuing to patter out his sentence.

"Who, uh, who is that, exactly? He's not on your board," the other said, chucking his thumb toward Adam's corkboard. "And I'm getting mixed messages from the contact name, 'cause it's _that_ , but there's a frickin' heart by it, too, man."

Adam had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing in Xander's openly distraught face.

He went to reply, but his ringer went off again - whatever terrible electronic disaster it had been set to the last time the owner of the contact name had been in possession of the phone - and Adam said, "Gimme a second."

The picture that popped up on the screen a belated second later was one that Adam cherished more than any of the one's in his hoard.

It had been captured on one surprisingly fair-weathered Henrietta Sunday afternoon. Ronan had made his way up the stairs of St. Agnes after his and his brother's time at service was up, and pulled Adam along for family lunch. 

Ronan had still been in his charcoal suit, tie loosened around his neck, top button of his shirt undone, jacket thrown over his shoulder from where it sat hooked on a crooked finger, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal more expanses of his brown skin.

His eyes, starkly contrasting the suit, had been scrunched against the sun, and there was the barest hint of a smile to his lips. Adam was there beside him, not so close, because even in fair-weather it was still summer and still sweltering, but there nonetheless. 

Adam remembered the day fondly, remembered the photo was taken seconds before Ronan had thrown an arm around his shoulders and pressed a rare kiss to his cheek. Remembered that it had been the first picture he'd taken with his new phone - the phone he'd bought because he had a full ride and he had extra money and he had wanted to and he _could_.

He grinned at the photo before catching it on the last ring.

"Hey, babe," he answered as he shoved the phone between his shoulder and ear, just to throw Xander off.

Which it did, wholeheartedly. 

" _That's_ your mysterious boyfriend?" he all but hollered. "Parrish what in the absolute _heck_ , he's _hot_!"

Adam snorted.

"One Man Nerd Band's there, then?" Ronan replied, forgoing any type of regular greeting.

"Mm," Adam hummed. "Apparently, you're hot. I hadn't noticed, but Xander's very adament so I'll have to take his word on it."

" _Adam_ ," Xander said with a strangled cry. 

"You mean to tell me you haven't been in this for my body the whole time? Color me shocked, Parrish," Ronan replied cooly, but Adam could hear the smirk in his voice.

"I know. I must love you or something, I guess," Adam added offhandedly.

"Huh, what a new and unheard of concept."

Adam laughed softly, leaning back in his desk chair.

Xander looked as if he was having an internal meltdown, but still somehow read the mood of the room, and quickly scampered out.

"Xander's gone, so I guess now I have to confess an undying love for you," Adam said, swiveling lightly from side to side as a softer smiled worked its way across his face.

"That sounds rough, how ever will you survive?" 

Adam exhaled in laughter, before smoothly changing the subject. "So, to what do I owe this immense honor?"

"Trying to figure out of you're actually in your room before I smuggle an agitated corvid up that many flights of stairs because the elevator's out of service."

He said it so casually that Adam had already replied, "Yeah, I'm here," before his mind caught up with and digested the sentence. "Wait, you're here?"

Ronan made some sort of weird noise at the back of his throat. "No, I'm at home- of course I'm here," he grumbled.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"It's called a surprise, Parrish, don't they do definitions in any of those big books you lug around?"

"I'm coming to meet you-" Adam said, something breathless and ecstatic in his perpetually tired voice.

He ended the call before Ronan could protest, barely remembering to stuff his feet into shoes before he was off down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time.

He passed a few people he knew, a few he didn't, most flattened against the wall to move from his destructive path - knowing, happy smiles on their faces. It was Thanksgiving time and the ratio of reunited significant others had skyrocketed.

Adam busted through the doors, finally slowing down as the sunshine hit his face hard enough that he had to squint to see much of anything.

But then again, even if he wasn't half-blinded by the sun, Adam would have known Ronan anywhere. Would have recognized that familiar pull in his gut, the tingle in the tips of his fingers. He would always find Ronan, no directions necessary.

The boy in question had spotted Adam just in the nick of time - given that Adam had thrown all qualms about PDA out the window of his fourth-floor dorm and was just shy of sprinting toward Ronan.

Chainsaw managed to untangle herself from Ronan's protective grip as Adam stopped just short of him, skidding on his heels.

"Jesus, Parrish, did you run all the way here?" Ronan grinned, eyes flicking up and down Adam's hunched body.

"Yes," Adam hurled back, hand at his side where a stitch was trying to form.

"Someone's desperate-" Ronan began, but was silenced when Adam finally regained his bearings, a soft, yet fond, "Shut up," rolling from his tongue as he manuevered so his arms were wrapped around Ronan and his head was resting in the crook of his once bird-occupied shoulder. 

Ronan buried his face in Adam's mussed hair, arms falling around Adam like a lifeline as he tugged him closer, closer. A kiss landed somewhere near the crown of his head, and he could feel a grin blooming.

"Now who's desperate?" Adam asked, a small laugh finding its way from his lips as he pressed a kiss to Ronan's jaw before pulling back to look at him - he didn't manage to get far, for Ronan's grip around his middle, but it was enough to see the other boy's face.

Chainsaw dropped on Adam's shoulder then, sifting curiously through the hair at his temples. Adam smiled, reaching up to offer her a consoling pat of the feathers. "I think she missed me more," Adam joked as she preened grandly under his touch.

"Not a chance," Ronan replied.

\-----

Later, when the two of them were curled around one another in Adam's tiny bed, clad in soft sweatpants and each other's crewneck sweatshirts, with Adam's laptop sat precariously between them and a movie playing dimly in the background of their soft kisses, Ronan pulled back.

At first, Adam frowned slightly. He hadn't seen Ronan in person since he'd left Henrietta, he hadn't been able to touch him, hold him, kiss him - and frankly, he'd been looking forward to it.

But then he saw the nervous way Ronan's eyes seemed to bounce around his face, how his lips twitched with something unspoken, and he understood.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, a soft hand brushing over the pinched skin where he was biting the inside of his cheek.

Ronan huffed through his nose, shimmying his hand from where it had been pinned under Adam's hip, and reached for the pocket of his pants.

"Just," he said, clutching something in his shaking hand. "Just, wait before you freak out," he mumbled.

Adam's brows pinched as Ronan rested something lightly on the edge of his computer. 

A small, black velvet ring box.

"Ronan, I swear to God," Adam said shakily.

"It's not, it's not like that-" Adam can fell the unspoken _not yet_ hanging between them. "Jesus, just give me a second," Ronan said quickly, using his thumb to pop the box open.

Inside rested a plain, silver ring, well-polished and perched perfectly in the center of the box. The band itself was made of two hands, coming around to frame a heart topped by a crown. 

When Adam didn't say anything for some time, Ronan finally spoke.

"It's a Claddagh," he explained softly, inflecting something gutteral on the end of the word. "It's this old Irish thing- the hands are friendship, the heart is love, and the crown, that's loyalty."

Somehow, he stumbled harder over loyalty than he had love - which, Adam supposed, wasn't all that surprising. Loyalty between people like Ronan Lynch and Adam Parrish was something nearly more than love - it was something awful close to trust.

And Adam knew that love couldn't be turned off, no matter how you tried or how hard you denied it, but trust could be raized and scorched and molded with the flick of a wrist or tongue. Trust was weaker than a Henrietta breeze in the summer, and it was hard to give it away, because it could be broken so easily.

But there was Ronan, Ronan with his unsure eyes and his twitching fingers, bearing love and loyalty and trust in the realest form.

"It's a promise ring," Adam mumbled, stupid tears clouding behind his eyes as he dartes his gaze over the ring again and again. 

"I mean, yeah, kind of," Ronan agreed, looking pointedly at the ring instead of Adam. "I know we're not traditional," he added softly, voice as weak as trust, "But I thought," he stopped.

Adam had promised himself the day that he moved into St. Agnes he would never again be anyone else's save for his own. He would never belong to anyone else, be branded or held under another person's thumb.

But this didn't feel like that. It didn't feel malicious or controlling or like childhood. It didn't feel like Ronan trying to stake his claim on Adam.

This felt like the universe trying to pay back what it had taken, to try to right wrongs.

This felt like he was being given more than he could return, this felt like loving and being loved in return. This didn't feel like ownership this felt like a promise made of gentleness and honesty. 

It felt like rewritten definitions for his new chapters.

Apparently, Adam had been quiet for too long, because Ronan began to nervously speak, something Adam watched in confused awe.

"I'm not trying to...this isn't me saying you're mine," Ronan whispered, his face twisted as he tried to find the words. "It's me telling you I'm yours."

Adam cupped the side of Ronan's face, rubbing his thumb steadily across the line of his cheekbone. "I know that," he murmured, holding back those damn tears still. "Thank you."

"Are you going to wear it?"

"Yeah, of course I am, asshole," Adam said, laughing wetly. His hand scrabbled for the box, feeling something electric bridle under his skin when his fingerprints first came into contact with the cool metal.

He nearly dropped it, his fingers shaking as he plucked it from its seat.

"What hand does it go on?" he finally asked after a minute of debate.

Ronan gave a laugh as slow as molasses. "Right, dumbass; you didn't lock me down legally," he remarked.

Adam can feel that everpresent _not yet_ in the air, and some wild part of his heart wants Ronan to say it, to breathe it to life like one of his dreams.

But with a start, Adam realized the ring, the ring he was fumbling to drop onto his right ring finger was it. It was the not yet, it was Ronan's one day, it was Adam's promise.

He finally lodged it below his knuckle, and Ronan took one look at it before shaking his head and shuffling it off his finger.

"If I'd have known that, I wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of getting it cleaned all nice for you, would I?" he asked, spinning the ring around and trying to mask his own trembling fingers as he slipped it back on Adam's finger.

And suddenly, Adam can see a day when it's the opposite hand, when there's more people involved, when papers are signed and the legalness is verified.

It doesn't scare him as much as he thought it would.

"Do what?" he asked, praying it would be enough to distract his mouth from saying any of the thoughts he was thinking.

Ronan tapped the heart with a rounded nail. "There's a whole language to this damn thing," he explained, fiddling restlessy with the band. "Right hand, end pointed out: single and really looking to mingle. Right hand, end pointed to the wrist: in a relationship."

Adam looked down, to where the point of the heart directed onlookers to his wrist, and he grinned.

"Left hand?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"You'll figure it out one day, Parrish," Ronan said, pressing his face into Adam's collarbone.

Adam rested his cheek against the prickle of Ronan's shorn hair and breathes gently, letting himself get used to the new weight.

"Where'd you get it?" he asked some time later, his eyes closed in peace.

"Hm?" Ronan hummed, turning as to rest his ear against Adam's chest.

"You didn't dream it," Adam replied simply.

"And you can just tell, huh?" Ronan asked, that familiar shark-tooth grin pulling at his mouth.

"Actually, yeah," Adam replied, flicking Ronan's ear.

"My great-grandma was a badass back in her day, gave it to my great grandpa before he got pulled off to war," Ronan answered, twisting the ring around Adam's finger as he continued. "Somehow, it found its way back with him, and got handed off to my grandma, so she wore it around a chain on her neck. Every picture of her from birth to death it's there - she was the one who told me all about it when I was a kid. 

"I guess Dad got it when she died, but he wasn't really one for the sentimental shit, so it got shoved in a box in one in the top of his closet. It's stupid because he used to dream all this extravagant shit for Mom, and I know she would've loved this more than any of it."

Adam let the weight of Ronan's words - of all these words he was offering so freely, so gently - sink in.

A four generation Lynch family heirloom, finding its way from an unconventional woman to a war, to a woman who Ronan only spoke of in the highest regard to a man Adam knew Ronan had worshipped, and now to him, on his callused and marked hands, with spindly fingers and knobby knuckles and powdered freckles.

"You're sure you want me to have it?" Adam asked, because he had to, because he couldn't keep it, knowing its illustrious history, not if Ronan wasn't sure.

Ronan scoffed against Adam's chest. "I didn't nearly fight Declan for it to not be sure, Parrish."

"Ronan."

"I'm kidding."

"Somehow, I don't believe you," Adam replied with a wicked smile.

"That's your prerogative, then."

Adam laughed as he shimmied down the bed awkwardly to meet Ronan's face. He grabbed it between his hands, letting the cool metal of the ring press against soft skin at the back of his jawline. "Hey," he murmured.

"I think we already passed greetings," Ronan replied softly, his eyes on Adam's lips.

"You know I love you, right?"

Ronan's cheeks pinked at the words, causing him to keep an even firmer gaze on anything below Adam's eyes.

They weren't ones for forwardly saying it. Saying _I love you_. They'd said it, they were too in love for it not to have bled over into words. But that had only been three times a piece. 

Once, in the early morning at the Barns, with coffee cups clutched in their hands and tired gazes going between one another and Opal's energetic form clomping circles around them as she waited to be released to the fields. Ronan had looked at him weirdly for a moment before admitting it to quiet air. Adam had startled, sloshing hot coffee onto his sweatpants and dodging reciprocating it for a while. He'd thought about it all day, mulled it over in his mind and was surprised to find that he wanted to say it back. That night, after Opal had gone to bed, after they'd done their respective nightly routines and were sprawled across Ronan's - _their_ \- bed, he whispered it back, half a wobble, but no hesitation to his voice.

The time after that had been in the dead of night, a nightmare shaking Adam from his sleep - one of bruised necks and fingers squeezing until fingerprints were embedded into skin, of a bright boy with a wild heart and a wilder hunt with the light knocked from his eyes forvever, of a girl with claw marks that ripped from her eyes to her chest where they wept blood, of a shuddering magician collapsed in the middle of it all. Ronan had cradled him fiercely, not with the gentleness of unholy hands grabbing a holy artifact as had been the norm at the beginning of their relationship, and murmured it into his hair. Adam had sobbed it back, needing for it to be born into the collapsing night.

The most recent of them all had been simple, but by far the hardest of them all. Ronan and Opal had driven him to school to drop him off for the first time. Adam had pulled Ronan into a rough kiss which had devolved into an enveloping hug, though Adam couldn't remember who'd said it first that time.

But they'd learned each other's language, slowly, with about as many missteps as were to be expected, maybe more, but they understood that just because they weren't saying it didn't mean they didn't feel it, didn't believe it.

But this. Adam had felt the words surge so fiercely in his chest that he couldn't contain them - didn't _want_ to. 

"Yeah, I know," Ronan replied before finally closing the gap between them.

When all had calmed down, when Adam's laptop had been returned to his desk so the only light was that of his bedside lamp, when their lips were sore and their hearts full, Adam pushed his hair back into something that didn't look so blatantly mussed.

When his ring snagged on a tangle, something hit him. He laughed quietly, garnering Ronan's sleepy attention.

"What?"

Adam bit the inside of his cheek, but the mirth remained in his eyes. "Blue's going to call this _archaic_ ," he finally replied, a delighted snort erupting between his words. "Oh, man, you're gonna get a whole lecture," he added.

And it wasn't that Adam thought Blue's most-likely stance was funny, because he agreed with her, as he did on most things, but the thought of Ronan standing bewildered in front of a red-faced Blue, _that_ was funny. That was priceless, in fact, enough so that he might have to find that Polaroid camera and finally add Ronan to his cork board.

"Good thing I don't live to please the maggot, then," Ronan huffed in response.

\-----

**BONUS**

It was a week later when Adam finally heard from Blue for the first time since Ronan had given him the Claddagh. She'd snapchatted him a picture of a malformed mass, which he thought to be a potato, but couldn't quite be sure, with the caption 'look, it's you'.

Since the ring had come into Adam's possession, he'd already become accustomed to its weight, and didn't think another thing of it when he'd replied with a crude gesture and a 'look, it's a fuck you,' caption just to get his point across.

It had taken her a miraculously long exchange of various insults and retorts before it clicked, and she'd frantically called from somewhere out west hounding him about it.

_Is it just a fashion statement or did you two do something stupid without us?_ she'd asked, illiciting a laugh from Adam.

_It's a promise, Blue,_ he'd replied.

She'd paused, but only for a second before saying, _While it's an outdated practice that only serves to - it is, too, Richard, shut up - look, before Gansey so_ rudely _interrupted, what I was trying to say is that I'm happy if you're happy - which I know you are, so, so am I - but I swear on it all, if you two ever decide to run off and turn a promise into eternity without me there I'm gonna steal all your silverware. Have fun eating meals as a married couple without a fork or a spoon, bucko._

_Blue, what the hell,_ Adam said with a startles chuckle.

_Send, send!_ Blue shouted, her tone agitated beyond her normal levels - which definitely meant she was handling technology.

_What are you doing?_

_I had the voice to text opened on Gansey's phone so it caught that; I'm sending it to Ronan so everyone's clear on the situation._

_Jesus, Blue,_ Adam quipped. _He's going to think I'm having wildly different conversations behind his back._

_Nah, you two are too emotionally constipated to discuss anything like that outside of yourselves._

_That's true,_ Adam agreed.

_Jane, you can't just say-_ came Gansey's heightened voice.

_I just did, what are you going to do about it? All right, Adam, I gotta go, talk to you later, love you!_

**Author's Note:**

> adam and ronan having one another in their phone's something wholly unromantic but oddly affectionate on their level is something,, i love and is half of why this became a 5k thing
> 
> this also started because i had the mental image of ronan casually setting a ring box in front of adam and it being a promise ring but Then while reading the wikipedia page for promise rings there was a link to the claddagh and long story short i'll probably never write post canon adam without one now bc i love it too much gksnfjsnd
> 
> also ik everyone and their mother has an adam-roommate-oc and i'm sorry but also i'm not and will most likely expand upon xander in the future because why not 
> 
> also, if you're still reading this: these drabbles are my effort to learn how to write pynch and the gangsey in general bc i have a big pynch fic i want to tackle but i want to do it Right, so therefore i encourage constructive feedback!! also, if you have any songs/prompts you'd like to see me do, hmu on my tumblr @luluthelich!!


End file.
